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"John from Cincinnati" showed Imperial Beach to the world. Not everybody thought that was a good idea.
While visionary leaders like environmentalist Dr. Serge Dedina and former mayor Michael Bixler thought the exposure could help their beautiful but enigmatic beach city on the border, some of the more xenophobic locals disagreed. In fact, running down I.B. is for many a part of a strategy to keep the funky community funky.
"Gang wars, disease, knife fights every night… Stay away! The water's polluted…" These are the tales of I.B. its locals would tell, said Mike Richardson, a long-time Imperial Beach denizen. Some folks, he said, want to keep the place off the map, especially notorious surfers known as "locals."
Localism is the ugly side of a sport generally known for laid back young water athletes who are becoming increasingly educated, environmentally aware and politically involved. "Locals," like street gangsters, often think they own the place. I.B. has some of each.
Richardson said he first moved to I.B. as a kid in the 1950s. "Everybody kind of knew everybody," he said. "There were probably 20 or 30 surfers in the whole town."
Surfer Manny Aguilera, said he noticed localism in the 1980s.
"Some of the younger guys who were surfing I.B. in the 80s were very territorial and aggressive," he said. "If you were out here and you cut somebody off, if you were catching too many waves, or if you just didn't belong here, guys would pull your leash and call you on it."
I.B. got a boost in 1980 when the United States Open Sandcastle Competition began drawing crowds from all across the world. Aguilera said the business the sandcastle competition brought in was welcomed, but the scrutiny of the city itself was not.
"You see gangs showing up from everywhere and you see them trying to leave their mark on I.B.," he said. "Of course you're going to leave with a bad taste in your mouth. People who didn't know I.B. very well were afraid of coming."
Imperial Beach as a town, however, has cleaned up a great deal since the days when biker gangs rumbled through the community. Speed bumps and street signs now line the streets of I.B., replacing dirt lots and the scruffy bikers. Public art and landmarks now line the sidewalks of the made-over commercial district. But attempts to refurbish and rejuvenate the city have a long way to go.
Aguilera and Richardson said the town's reputation comes from people who have not spent enough time there to appreciate its beauty. Richardson said the notoriety is unwarranted. Aguilera said perceptions change slowly.
"People still believe it's the same town, and it's not," he said. "It's unfair, but the locals have mixed feelings about that."
Aguilera said I.B. is beautiful, has small crowds and is home to great surf. A negative stigma hinders the growth of a beautiful beach town on the cusp of great things, he said.
"People here love the place because it is still so low key," said Aguilera. "I want everyone to feel welcome here, but the [bad] reputation helps our locals as far as surfing is concerned."
Richardson agreed.
"The surf here is spectacular, so the locals that surfed really had it all to ourselves [because of the bad reputation]."
I.B.'s image is not the only thing that is tough, Richardson said. Its break is also no day at the beach.
"It is truly one of the toughest waves in the world," said the veteran waterman. "It's unforgiving. I remember we grew up surfing the sloughs. Me and one of the lifeguards out there took a trip to Hawaii. We paddled out at Sunset Beach and we said 'This is it?! This is nothing!'"
Aguilera agreed.
"If you can surf I.B., you can surf anywhere."
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